!!!!!!!!!

As soon as I’m unlocked from my chastity belt each week, she unceremoniously coats my clit with numbing cream. She then lets me spend the day “edging” for her amusement. Those days are the hardest. I rub and rub and rub but all I can feel is dull pressure. I’m usually dripping and crying by the end. Sometimes though, if I’ve been especially well behaved that week, she’ll fuck me with her strap. Those days are my favourite because even with my clit numb, and though I can’t cum from it, it feels so good. It’s the only pleasure I receive now.

“That’s enough, let’s see how well you’ve lubed me up.”

Her strap pops out of my mouth and I’m hoping my messy blowjob has earned me it in my needier hole. I can feel the numbing cream has taken hold, making my clit useless, but my cunt still aches desperately to be filled.

“This isn’t going to work.”

She’s stroking her cock before my eyes. My mouth instinctively opens around the tip to try again but she pulls away, out of reach.

“Your pathetic blowjob isn’t going to cut it today. I think we need something else.”

I kneel waiting, watching as she walks over to the dresser and pulls out a familiar white tube. My heart sinks. She twists off the cap and squeezes out the cream, spreading it along the length of her strap. She adds more. She’s using the numbing cream as lube.

“That’s better. Nice and wet. Get in position.”

My eyes are already watering from throating her. That makes it easier to pretend I’m not starting to cry. I turn around on my hands and knees, lower my face and lift my hips up.

The cream works fast, but it’s not instant. I feel the first thrust. By the third though, it’s just that same dull pressure again, deep but distant.

“Don’t you feel lucky?”

I sob a little, rubbing my face against the floor, but I nod. Because I did get unlocked. Because I did get almost three thrusts. Because compared to the alternative, lucky is exactly what I am.

To rectify this, he started by making me watch him masturbate. Not just watch, but study. Inches away from him, gagged and attentive. Studying every vein, the change in color as his cock throbs, the shine at the tip.

Next, he’d masturbate but sit down on a dildo. He’d make me study him stretch over it, make me bask in his groans. I’d watch his fist over his cock, hypnotized by the slick, perverse sounds. He’d remind me that caged things don’t get to just fuck anything. That silicone is an infinitely better replacement to anything I could offer.

He’d smack me in the face with it, over and over. Making me feel the weight and the warmth. Sometimes he’d tap my cage with his foot while he did it, laughing at how the plastic rattles. He told me I should remember how a real cock feels, why mine doesn’t exist.

He said caged things only get to please a cock, not have one of their own. I’m caged because it’ll never have a use.

Why give a name to something useless, after all?

I have three holes, but only one of them is meant to be filled. Only one holds any biological purpose. Only one was designed to grip and squeeze and pull you deeper. Only one makes me feel good when it's full and desperately empty when it's not.

When you deny me that, when you use my mouth and ass instead, holes that serve you but do so little for me, it really is the ultimate form of denial. I'm being fucked, technically, but the part of me that needs it most is ignored, wet and useless.